


Not Good Enough

by Catoukin (Visionairz)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Albert is angry, Not Beta Read, Things are thrown, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:01:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23223712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visionairz/pseuds/Catoukin
Summary: Albert slammed his fists against the wall, shaking the arrangement of neatly stacked video games on a nearby shelf. The sound of rattling echoed in the room as the rest of the room shook from the force.It’s not good enough.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Not Good Enough

Albert slammed his fists against the wall, shaking the arrangement of neatly stacked video games on a nearby shelf. The sound of rattling echoed in the room as the rest of the room shook from the force. **  
**

It’s not good enough.

Albert took a deep breath and stepped back from the wall. One more shot.

He picked his phone up off the floor and pressed play after restarting the music. One more time to get it right. It’s not that hard, it’s just some stupid dance for the musical Race convinced him to join.

As the music played, Albert closed his eyes and shook his hands. If he could get it down without screwing up, it would be perfect.

The cue came up and he began. One step followed by the next, slow at first but quickly gaining speed. He kept his eyes shut as he continued, forcing himself to work from muscle memory when it got faster.

And then he tripped on his bluetooth speaker and was sent flying to the ground.

Albert lay there sprawled out taking deep breaths as his chest constricted. It got harder to breathe and he clenched his jaw to resist the urge to scream. He balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms as hard as he could.

It wasn’t long before he punched the wooden floor. This is all so _stupid_. Why can’t he get it _right_?

He got to his feet and took a few more deep breaths. He had to go again.

The music was restarted and Albert made his way through the steps. Each one fluently followed the next until he slammed his hand on his desk.

Again.

The music restarted and he went over the choreography again. This time the music buffered.

Again.

Albert stumbled for no reason.

Again.

He forgot some of the movements.

Again.

The ding of a text message interrupted Albert and that was when he lost it.

Albert grabbed his phone and threw it at the nearest object. It went flying until it directly hit the table a couple feet away. The entire table shook and his glass of water with it. It teetered for a couple moments, circling around before collapsing and dumping the water everywhere.

Albert swore and dove for the cup. As he reached for it, his foot landed directly in the puddle. In response, he snagged the cup and chucked it as well, growling in the process.

It was all so stupid. He only needed to get it right one time and he could be done but he couldn't even get through the entire thing!

Without bothering to move away from the water, Albert sat on the ground, his legs stretched out before him. The water proceeded to soak his sweatpants and make them stick to his skin. Perfect.

Everything is perfect.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Why was getting it down correctly too much to ask for? Every single time he tried, something went wrong and it wasn’t good enough. It needed to be right. It needed to be right otherwise he would let everyone down. He can’t let the rest of the cast down, not so close to tech week.

For as long as Albert has been dancing, he thought he’d be confident. And, well, he is. For the most part.

He has a standard for himself; a standard he will always hold himself to. It is the bar that determines a failure or the beginning of a success. It is the bar he can’t seem to fucking reach.

Albert gripped his hair tight in his hands, pulling as he squeezed his eyes shut. He needs to do it right. He needs to do it right the first time and then do it right again and again and again. He needs to do it correctly or it will all be a waste.

But if he keeps trying, he’ll only get worse. He’ll keep screwing up and forgetting parts. He’ll miss his cues and constantly falter. The more he does it the worse he’ll get until it all falls apart and-

Albert curled in on himself and screamed. Quiet at first, it quickly grew until he let go of his hair and slammed his fist on the table leg.

He opened his eyes and only saw red. Everything around him was hazy and crimson and anything he could possibly throw or break was vibrant.

His hands ached and his fingers twitched.

He needed to break something.

He needed to feel something snap in his hands. Something tear.

Pushing himself to his feet, Albert looked around the room. Nothing caught his eye until his gaze landed on the small table he was next to.

Books stood neatly lined up against the wall, only slightly disturbed from when his phone hit them. Loose papers and stationary lie scattered across the table and some cans and another speaker sat on the far end.

It didn’t take a second thought for Albert to swipe everything off.

He shoved the speaker and cans directly to the floor before sweeping across the table. The books went flying and the papers fluttered around. At the same time, his phone hit the ground with a wet thud, sending droplets of water spraying everywhere.

That only threw Albert into a larger rage.

He kicked his phone out of the puddle. The thought of water damage never crossed his mind, not even as he picked up one of the fallen books and pulled. Not even as the book strained for a moment before the spine gave way. Not even as he threw the two halves at the couch.

His hands still tingled and his heart still craved. More things, more damage.

Albert reached down and grabbed another book but this time, he paused. He stared down at the cover. Pioneer Women. A book his mom read.

Albert’s breath hitched as he ran his hand across the title. Tension he didn’t realize he had faded away and he was left standing there, staring at the beat up old book. The edges of the cover curled in and the spine was worn and creased. It looked as though it had been read a hundred times over.

Then his stomach dropped.

Panic hit him like a truck and he set the book on the table. He scrambled across the room to the two halves of a book he had just torn apart. With shaky hands, Albert picked up the two mutilated pieces.

A small gasp slipped out when he looked at the front cover. Tears pricked at his eyes as he held the halves tight.

“No no no no no…”

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy. His mom’s favorite book, the one she always read even while she was cooped up in that horrid hospital.

The book that was found clutched in her hands.

What has he done?

**Author's Note:**

> This took a lot for me to write and really wasn't that good, but I needed to get it off my chest. I thank all of you for reading, kudos and comments are welcomed with warm embraces <3


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